


Bullish Negotiations

by Sassydoilies



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Drinking, F/M, No Strings Attached, Rare Pairings, Sex, Standing Sex, The Inquisitor Was Hilarious, Vaginal Fingering, Wicked Grace
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-10
Updated: 2017-11-10
Packaged: 2019-01-31 15:31:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,628
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12684708
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sassydoilies/pseuds/Sassydoilies
Summary: Josephine is sent to Starkhaven to negotiate a treaty.  The Iron Bull is sent as her bodyguard, but winds up helping her relax in a way she wouldn't have considered.





	Bullish Negotiations

**Author's Note:**

  * For [bloomingcnidarians](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bloomingcnidarians/gifts).



“Are you quite certain?”  Josephine’s rich voice was strained.  “I am sure I booked two.”

The innkeeper shook his head.  “I am sorry, Lady Montilyet,” he said, spreading his hands regretfully.  “I have it written here, see.”  He tapped the ledger between them, turning so she could read.  “Two rooms were booked, yes, but it was changed.”

It was there, in ink, _J Montilyet, 2 rooms_.  And crossed out!  With the change noted, _1 room only, extra large bed_ , with the notation, _per Inq._   Oh, Trevelyan would hear about this!  “I see.”  Her voice was level, a miracle, and she was able to muster a smile at the man.  “I must have forgotten the change.”

He bowed slightly over the book.  “That must be the case.”  A glance over her shoulder made him swallow hard – audibly – and he handed her the quill.  “Please, if you would sign the ledger, I will have the boy take up the bags for you and your . . . .”

“Bodyguard,” came the baritone from behind her.  The Iron Bull had hefted their luggage into the entrance area of the inn, and was standing at his ease, surrounded by bags, chests, and boxes.

“Yes,” she said, taking the quill and signing her name with a flourish.  What the man must think!  Josephine passed the quill back, trying to act like she was not blushing bright, vivid scarlet.

The innkeeper turned and whistled, and two boys came running up.  “Room 8,” he said, and stepped out from behind the tall desk.  “If you would, follow me.  The boys will . . .” he looked at the wiry arms and legs struggling to carry all the baggage, “take a few trips to deliver your things.”

Iron Bull lifted the two heaviest things – a chest she knew was full of books and shoes, and a box he’d packed, she thought maybe with weapons – and fell into step behind them.  The innkeeper chatted about how much there was to do in the city, would they be interested in theater tickets, and finally she broke in with a sharp-edged smile.  “That sounds quite lovely, Serah Wallace, but most of the time we have will be spent at the palace.  Official business, drear as it may be.”

His head bobbed up and down, making him look like nothing so much as a turkey.  “Of course, duty above all.”  He turned to unlock the last door down the hallway, pushing it open and stepping aside to let the two of them enter first.

_The Marble Lion_ was the finest inn in Starkhaven, and it showed.  The hallway had been plain, but the colors and lines were soothing to the eyes.  The room behind the door was as luxurious as any palace Josephine had been in – and she had guested in many.  Plush Rivani rugs blazed in red and white against the dark wood floor; the curtains were woven in crimson linen and silk, shot through with silver embroidery.  The bed was indeed large, bigger than the room she’d had in Haven, it seemed, and made in white with silver and red embroidery.  Fresh flowers seemed to be everywhere, in vases on tables, in urns on the floor, masking the fireplace, cold now in the heat of summer.

She stepped aside quickly, letting Iron Bull pass and set down his burdens near the hearth.  “Huh.  Nice room.”  He took a deep breath, and she could see the muscles in his shoulders ease a bit.  “Flowers’re a nice touch.”

The innkeeper looked startled, but bobbed his head again.  “Thank you, messere.”  The boys came in, dropping off their first load of luggage, and darted out to gather up more.  “Your key, Lady Montilyet,” he said, presenting her with the heavy brass item.  “You have a private washroom through there,” he indicated another door to the side.  “Please, do not hesitate to ring should you need anything.”

“Thank you again,” Josephine said, bowing slightly.  “I will let you know if we require anything.”  He headed for the door, and she turned.  “Oh, if it would not be too much trouble, I would take dinner here this evening.”

“Of course.”  The innkeeper gave her a small smile.  “Two trays for tonight.”

“Just one.”  She glanced at Iron Bull.  “You do not have to stay here; I know you enjoy the buzz of a tap room.”

He looked at the innkeeper.  “Two trays, thanks.”  The man, sensing the tension, bowed once and fled.  The Qunari looked at Josephine.  “I’m here to guard you.  It’s kinda hard to do that if we aren’t in the same place.”

She opened her mouth to retort, but the two boys entered with the last of their bags.  “Ah, thank you kindly, gentlemen,” she said, reaching for her purse.  Her hand froze as Iron Bull reached into a pocket in those horrible trousers he wore and gave the boys an Orlesian half-crown each.  They bowed as well as they could while trying to stash the money in their clothes before backing out of the room and shutting the door.

Josephine shook her head and looked at him, fingers fidgeting against the embroidery on her traveling dress.  “You do not have to stay.”

“No, but I’m going to.”  He rolled his shoulders and turned to the standing wardrobe in one corner, hefting a chest over one shoulder.  “I still don’t know why they sent me instead of a half-dozen soldiers, but I’ll be damned if I let the boss think I didn’t take your safety seriously.”

There wasn’t anything to say to that, so she sighed and stripped off her gloves.  “Very well.  I shall take advantage of the washroom, then, and get out of these dusty clothes.”

He looked over his shoulder at her, eyebrow quirked up.  “Don’t feel like you’ve got to put anything on afterwards on my account.”  His hands, however, were unpacking her dresses and hanging them in the wardrobe as tidily as any valet.

She spluttered a moment, blushing even more brightly.  “I . . . that is not . . . please hand me my robe.”  Without saying a word, he held out the dressing gown.  She took it, and darted through the door to the bathroom.

A quarter hour later, she was clean and snugly wrapped in the soft grey robe, and ready to face her roommate.  She shouldn’t have been surprised to see him reading one of the books she’d brought, but she was.  It was certainly one of the drier tomes, a treatise on Starkhaven’s economic recovery from the Qunari invasion in the Storm Age.

He looked up as she walked back into the room, closing the book and setting it down on a side table.  “That book’s awful – and wrong.  There were at least three fewer dreadnaughts than they have listed.”

Josephine blinked.  “Really?  But they . . . of course, the author was a Starkhaven native.  He wanted the city’s military to seem more impressive.”

She perched on the edge of the bed, tucking the robe around herself tightly.  “We should discuss . . . sleeping arrangements.  The Inquisitor clearly thought it would be amusing to put us into an awkward position.”  Idly, she noticed he’d taken off the chest harness he usually wore, skin and scars bare now; the leather had left red pressure marks across his pale skin.

“You mean he really did?”  He snorted, shaking his head.  “I thought it was a story you were telling that guy.”  Her startled look made his lips curl in a half smile.  “What?  You wouldn’t have been the first person to set up something like this so no one knows they want to ride the Bull.”

Josephine spluttered, her face beet red.  “What? I . . . I’m sure I . . . .”  Not that she hadn’t thought about . . . well, it was hardly proper for her to entertain such thoughts.  “I . . .” she cleared her throat.  “In any case.”

He stood up, stretching his arms overhead, fingertips brushing the ceiling.  “I didn’t hear a ‘no’ in there.  But you were saying.”

She chose to ignore that – maybe she hadn’t said no, but that didn’t mean anything.  Did it?  “Yes, well.  The bed is clearly sized for you, so it makes sense that you should sleep there.”

“Then where will you sleep?”  Iron Bull sat on the edge of the bed perpendicular to her, bending over to take off his boots.  “There’s no cot or bedroll here, and you aren’t sleeping on the floor.”

Her back stiffened.  “I am not made of glass!  The floor will be fine, I will ask for a spare pillow and blanket, and . . . .”

Twin thumps of his boots hitting the floor, and his voice was deep and serious.  “You won’t.  You’ll sleep in the bed too.”  He barked a laugh.  “I can sleep next to someone without ravishing them.  Unless you’re worried about controlling yourself?”

Josephine flushed again – more – and said very primly, “I am not.  Fine, we will share the bed.”  She stood up and went over to the small desk in the corner.  “Now, I have work to do before dinner.”

~ ~ ~ ~

The next day, driving back from the palace in the carriage provided by Prince Sebastian, Josephine was making notes in a small book while Iron Bull looked out the window pensively.  “If I was really here,” he said abruptly, making her jump, “just to be on display, why the cover story of being your bodyguard.”

Her smile was a little wry.  “Perhaps it was both.  And something else, as well.”  She snapped the book shut, storing the pen she’d been using in the case along the side of the journal.  “You are – were – Ben Hassrath.  You likely will notice more than I would, different things, and particularly when I am involved in negotiations.”

“Hmph.”  He shifted a little, his posture becoming more relaxed.  The wicked tone in her voice drew a grudging smile from him, but he said, “I’d just like to know ahead of time if I’m going to be on display.”  Iron Bull met her eyes, and she swallowed hard.  “Gives me time to oil myself up, display everything – get tighter pants.”

Josephine smirked.  “Your fondness for those atrocious trousers is well-known, I doubt anyone would recognize you without them.”

He laughed, a booming sound that almost rattled the carriage.  “You’d be surprised how many people would.”  She realized what she’d said, and what his response meant, and her cheeks reddened again.  Shaking his head, he folded his arms across his chest.  “Tell you what.  Instead of doing whatever thing you had planned tonight, let’s do something fun.”

A delicate eyebrow lifted.  “How do you know what I had planned was not fun?  I can have fun.”

“Because you consider this a business trip.  And you’re a dedicated worker, so you want to make sure everything you do while we’re here is in service to your job.”  He leaned forward, hands on his knees.  “ _I_ think you’ll be more effective at negotiating if you aren’t wound so tight.”

Her mouth pursed for a moment, and she sighed.  “Perhaps you’re right.  What did you have in mind?”

“Figured we’d stay in, have a few drinks, just relax, you know what I mean?”

“I think you just don’t want to wear the formal clothes we brought.”

“Can’t it be both?”

~ ~ ~ ~

Josephine crowed a little as she put down her cards.  “Full house!  Knights of roses, dawn, and wisdom, angels of truth and fortitude!”  She danced a little, making the mattress bounce a little under them.  She took a deep drink of the Starkhaven-crafted red wine – quite good, if the treaties went through, she’d use it for guests at Skyhold – and pointed a finger at Iron Bull.  “That means it is your turn.  Maryden?”

He shook his head.  “Nope.  Not my type – and she’s weird, right?  You heard that song she wrote about Sera.”

They were both on the bed, Josephine sitting cross-legged while Iron Bull reclined across the foot of the bed.  They each had a drink, and were playing Wicked Grace.  He had suggested they play for money; she had suggested they exchange intimate histories.  It had been an evening of surprises, from her finding out that he had never bedded any of the Chargers to the revelation they had both been with Leiliana.  The red-haired spy would hear about this, no question.

“That does not mean she’s weird, maybe she’s just . . . I do not know, not interested in what you have to offer?”  Clever, quick hands gathered the cards and shuffled them again.

Iron Bull scoffed.  “She may not be interested in me, but she’s not just interested in ladies.  And the song is weird.”  He picked up the cards she dealt him but didn’t look at them.

“You are not what I expected,” she said, glancing at her own hand.  Not that great, but she could possibly make it work for her.  “Many men would be much less matter-of-fact about a woman’s lack of interest in them.”

His face was amused.  “Maybe.  There’s no point in getting your feelings hurt, though.  Just because some woman – or man – doesn’t want what you’ve got, there’s nothing saying another one will feel the same.”  The expression on his face made her fumble a turn of cards, discarding something she shouldn’t have.

She lost that hand, and he grinned at her.  “All right.  Your turn.  Celene?”

“Absolutely not!” She wasn’t offended, just slightly horrified.  “There were rules in place, of course, to keep bards from becoming too entangled, and I . . . well, I was not her preference.”  Josephine refilled her wine glass.  “Besides, you heard all the rumors about what happened with Briala.  I am just as glad the Imperial eye never landed on me.”

He snorted and shuffled the cards again.  “Makes sense.  I’m pretty sure I’d rather fight a dragon bare-handed than get tangled up in that mess.”

“You would rather fight a dragon than most things.”  She picked up her cards and gave him a wicked smirk.

“Yeah, but not everything.”  He downed the rest of the ale the innkeeper had provided with a scandalized look and thumped the mug down on the bedside table.  “There are several things I’d rather do than that.”

There wasn’t a lot she could say to that, so instead Josephine drew a card and they played the hand.  She lost again, and leaned back against the headboard while he considered his options.  “Hmmm.  Trevelyan?”

“I . . . no.”  She picked up her wine glass and fiddled with it a bit.  “I thought for a short while he might . . . but he and Dorian are quite happy together, now, and I am happy for them.”

He nodded, then paused.  “Wait a second.”  Leaning forward, he studied her face.  “You said no when I asked about Cullen and Cassandra, it’s been ‘years and years’ since Leiliana, and now no on the Inquisitor?”

She stiffened a little, not liking where this seemed to be heading.  “That’s correct.”

“When was the last time you had someone show you a good time?”

Josephine gave the question serious thought.  “9:35 Dragon, 15 Cloudreach.”

He blinked.  “That’s amazingly specific.  And an amazingly long time.  8 years?  Really?”

“Yes, really.  I have been very busy, and there is little time to build a relationship when you are trying to make something out of a motley mess of people like the Inquisition was.  And head a family.”  Her voice was snippy, and she knew it.

“Explains a lot.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

He shrugged, folding his hands over his stomach.  “You’re wound pretty tight, Ambassador.  If you really haven’t had sex with anyone in 8 years, no wonder.”

She straightened where she sat, unsure if she should feel offended.  “Not having intimate company does not impact my ability to perform at my job, Bull.”

A smile played over his face.  “No, but like I said earlier, you might be more effective negotiating if you weren’t wound so tight.”  He put up one hand.  “I’m not saying you aren’t good at what you do – you’re great at it, better than I could even want to be.  But you need to relax a little more.”

“I would gladly, but there is no one around who is interested at this very moment.”  She sniffed and started shuffling the cards again.

Iron Bull reached out a hand, placing it over hers and stopping the nervous motion of her hands.  “Look.  I’m not a Tamassran or anything, but . . . .”

“I do not want your pity!” she snapped, glaring at him.  “You do not have to do anything if you do not wish it.”

The expression he gave her was amused.  “You really think I’d offer if I had no interest, or felt it was something I had to do?”  She was quiet, looking at him more softly now.  “You’re beautiful, and built – you should consider clothes that don’t hide your figure as much, you know – you’re clever and passionate.  Why wouldn’t I be interested?”

One of her eyebrows quirked.  “I do not have red hair.”

His laugh filled the room.  “Just because I have a favorite dish doesn’t mean I don’t like anything else.”  The hand covering hers moved up to cup her cheek – and half her face, with the size of it.  “If you don’t want to, we won’t.  But if you’re objection is that you don’t think I’d want to, you’re just being blind.”

~ ~ ~ ~

Lying in bed that night, wide awake, Josephine couldn’t get his words out of her head.  She was more acutely aware of his warmth just within arm’s reach on the bed, more so than she had been the previous evening.  She had changed the subject earlier, and he had let her, but the conversation had stayed in her mind, circling round and round.

Her hands were clasped together over the thin blanket, knuckles pale with the tension there, thumbs ghosting over each other in a rhythm she knew was a sign of an internal struggle.  Did she want . . . that?  Yes.  She was curious about him – she’d heard the stories – and it had been a long time since she’d been with anyone.  But should she take advantage of his offer?  That wasn’t as clear.  She still wasn’t sure he wasn’t offering out of pity, but from everything she’d seen and heard, he wasn’t the kind to offer pity.

So . . . maybe she should.  But at the same time, it wasn’t appropriate, was it?  But then, the Inquisition didn’t seem to care what people did in their beds.  The nobility might care, but she knew more about what they were up to than to care about what they might say – likely it was already being said.

Josephine sat up in bed, throwing the covers off herself.  Her mind was made up, it was just how to approach things.  As she was deciding, Iron Bull stirred, eye opening, lightly hazed with sleep.  “What’s the matter?  Something wrong?”

“No,” she said, turning to face him.  “I have decided something.”

He raised one of his arms to tuck the hand behind his head.  “Yeah?”

She nodded.  “Yes.”  Her hand reached out to touch his chest, and she could feel the muscles tense momentarily.  “If you are still willing, I . . . would take your offer to, ah, help me relax.”

One of his eyebrows went up.  “Ambassador, I –“

“Josephine.  Or Josie.”  She smiled at him, and it seemed to light the room.  “No formality right now.”

One of his hands went to her waist, wrapping almost the entire way around her body with its size.  “Josie.”  He smiled at her, warm and with a spark of desire she hadn’t seen in anyone’s face in a while.  “Nothing that happens here needs to leave this room.  You’re safe here, and if you don’t like something, or need a rest, you say so.”

Josephine nodded.  “All right.”  Her fingers flexed on his chest, feeling the smoothness of his skin and the unyielding strength of his muscles.  “I will let you know if things are not satisfactory.”  Her lips curved into a small smile.  “I doubt I will need to.”

He grinned at her, the hand on her waist slipping around to embrace her more fully and pull her body against his.  She almost fell on top of him, landing with one hand on the bed next to his head and her breasts pillowing against his chest through the thin fabric of her nightdress.

There was a moment where they just looked at each other, and then she moved, lifting herself forward and up and pressing her lips to his.  She felt his initial surprise, but it didn’t take more than a moment for him to respond in kind, kissing back with skill and desire as his arms moved to circle her.  She moaned a little, the feeling of close physical contact almost dizzying.

One of his hands slid down her waist to grab her ass, squeezing the plush flesh gently.  Josephine’s hands were roaming as well as they could over his chest and arms, delighted with the way his muscles flexed and moved under her fingers.

As the kiss broke, her fingers went to the lacings of her nightdress, pulling at the ribbons to loosen them.  When they were finally – it seemed an eternity – loose enough, she started to gather it to pull over her head.  Iron Bull stopped her, grasping the linen and pulling it up and off of her body himself.

She was half-kneeling on the bed now, stark naked, trying to resist the urge for modesty.  It was silly, at this point, to worry about him seeing her, when they were shortly going to be doing much more.  His eye was like a physical force on her, tracing over swaths of cinnamon skin, cresting her breasts and down to the darkness between her legs.

Iron Bull shifted in the bed, adjusting to be sitting rather than lying down, looking over her body again.  She was flattered by the appreciation on his face, and the fact that he was taking a second look.  She could feel her nipples stiffening, from the air as well as the intensity of his gaze, and knew he could tell.

He reached out to touch her, hands cupping her breasts, thumbs ghosting over her hard nipples and drawing a gasp from her.  Back arching, Josephine’s hands braced themselves on his shoulders.  Maker, his muscles felt like stone!  She started to work her fingers, kneading the muscles there without even thinking about it.

Before she could process what he was doing, he had leaned forward and wrapped his lips around one of her nipples, lashing the sensitive pearl with his tongue.  “Ahhhh!  Maker’s breath!” she gasped out, keeping her voice to a breathy whisper with a firm exertion of will.

He chuckled, she felt more than heard it, and shivered with the vibration against her breast.  His teeth scraped over her nipple, and the fingers on his shoulder clenched as her breath left her lungs in a hiss.

Pulling his mouth from her with a wet pop, he gave her a wicked grin.  “I can’t wait to hear what you sound like when you really let lose.”  One of his hands trailed down her body, ghosting over her stomach to slide between her legs.  His mouth wrapped around her other breast as his fingers probed her folds to find the slick heat there.  Josephine felt her body react, jerking almost as though she’d gotten a jolt of electricity.

“Nnn, you want people to hear?” she managed, licking her lips.  The only response she got was his fingers dipping between her lips and pressing against her clit.  One of her hands flew to her mouth, muffling the squeal that resulted.

He lifted his head, replacing his mouth with a hand.  “More that I don’t really care if they do.  But I am interested in hearing the unflappable ambassador lose herself.”  His hands worked on her body, stroking and teasing, toying with her as she started to squirm.

Her skin grew hotter, and lightly beaded with sweat, her breath was coming in gasping pants.  His fingers were playing her body like an instrument, finding all the spots that made her gasp and wriggle, pushing her body down onto his hand wantonly.  She was getting close to a climax, she knew, and after such a short time!  As her body moved towards it, his hands paused.

She didn’t even have time to whimper before the hand between her legs shifted.  He slid one finger inside of her, effortlessly penetrating her slick entrance.  Josephine’s eyes fluttered shut, fingers clenching his shoulders hard enough to leave a mark now, and she rode out the sudden climax, hips grinding down onto his hand.

Iron Bull braced her trembling body with a hand on her back, pulling her body close to his as she came.  Her mouth opened, in a soundless cry of pleasure that ended in a low, heated moan that seemed to come from the base of her soul.

As she slowly roused from the deep sensations that had overwhelmed her, Josephine looked at him, eyes blinking as she struggled to focus.  “I . . . that was . . . amazing,” she breathed, straightening slightly to look at him.  “Bull, I . . . thank you.”

He removed his finger from her slowly, clearly relishing the expression and sound she made as he did so.  “Don’t thank me yet.  We’re not done, not even close.”

“Well, of course I will gladly . . . .”

He shook his head and kissed her again, his teeth catching her lower lip gently.  “Wait and see.  Thank me after.”  His hands gripped her hips, tugging gently as he shifted to lay with her on top of him.

She moved easily over him, shifting a bit so that she straddled him.  It made her acutely aware of her nudity, her bare, wet sex pressed against his stomach, but somehow she didn’t mind.  His hands moved from her hips and to his waist, and by the movements he was making, she thought he was taking off the shorts he had been wearing.

The dark-skinned woman turned her upper body around, wanting to see him, to know what his cock looked like.  She’d heard some of the women and men talking about it, but she wanted to know for herself.  The linen shorts slid down, and she could hear his exhalation of pleasure when the fabric no longer held his shaft down.

When it sprang free, her breath caught.  It was just like she would have imagined: Long, thick, impressive.  She licked her lips, her eyes fixed on the stiff shaft.  One of Josephine’s hands reached out to touch it, and felt the heat radiating from his cock before her fingers wrapped around it.  She felt him twitch under her touch, heard the sharp intake of breath from him as skin met skin.  He was hard, hot, almost throbbing as she started to slowly stroke her hand up and down.

She’d barely gotten started when his hands caressed her hips again, gripping more tightly this time.  “Josie,” he breathed, “your hand feels great, but what I really want,” he shifted her hips against him, “is to feel you around me.”

She could feel the flush spreading from her cheeks and down her neck.  “All right.”  She did want that, but she wasn’t sure at all that his cock would fit.  “I . . . want that as well.”  Lifting herself up on her knees, Josephine released her grip and moved backward.  Her breath caught when she felt the head of his cock brush against her wet core.

His hands guided her hips a little higher, positioning her over the length of his cock.  Her hand reached down between them to steady him, and slowly, achingly, she slid down onto his cock.  They both groaned, and his fingers pressed into the roundness of her hips.  “Damn, you feel so fucking good,” he managed just before their bodies met and he was fully enveloped in her.

Breathless, she nodded.  “This . . . Andraste’s tits, you are so big!”  It was not-quite uncomfortable to have him inside of her like this.  It had been too long since she’d had a man, that was part of it, but he was so big, so thick, was stretching her in a delicious manner . . . she couldn’t stop herself from grinding her hips against him.

He laughed softly, using the hands on her hips to guide her a bit, to help set the pace of her motion, then moving her up and down little by little until she was bouncing on his cock.  Her hands braced on his chest, leaning forward as she filled herself over and over with that delicious length.  “Mmm, that’s a good look,” Iron Bull murmured, staring at the way her pose pressed her breasts together.

“Perhaps I should negotiate like this from now on,” she joked, her teeth catching her lower lip as she rode him.

“I think you’d be, ahh, very successful,” he gasped out.  A wicked expression passed over his face, and she felt his hands shift from guiding her hips to holding her ass, and he was moving.  Sitting up, Iron Bull used one hand to guide her arms around his neck, then put both hands on her ass.  “Hold on,” he growled into her ear.

She did, and was still surprised when he stood up, still inside her and holding her in position.  “Bull, what are you . . . ?”

He was walking now, carrying her easily, until he reached the wall next to the hallway door.  “Have you ever had anyone do this?” he asked, pressing her up against the wall.  “If you haven’t, I think you’ll love it.”

Looking up at him, she shook her head.  “No, never, but . . . are you suUUUUure?” He’d pulled back and thrust back into her, turning her last word into an almost musical cry of pleasure.  Her arms were tight around his neck, and her legs wrapped around his waist.  In this position, it felt like he was going even deeper, hitting every spot she had that felt good.

“Oh, I’m certain,” he purred, pressing his lips to the side of her neck.  And then he started to fuck her in earnest.  With every thrust, she moaned, squealed, cried out.  At first, she was trying to be quiet, but the friction, the fullness, threw self-control out the window more quickly than she’d expected.

Her hands were gripping his shoulders tightly enough that she knew there would be bruises.  She didn’t care, couldn’t care with the sensations spreading through her body from where he was inside of her.  Her hips were moving as much as they could, pushing her down on the length of him.  “Bull!  Maker, I . . . it feels . . . too good!”

The words had an effect she hadn’t foreseen – he chuckled in her ear, and started to thrust harder, faster.  The vase on the table next to them rattled on the marble surface each time he slammed into her, the delicate flowers shedding petals with the force of it.  It wasn’t until she heard the door shudder in its frame that she realized how hard they were fucking each other.

The idea that everyone could hear, that they would know exactly what was going on in here, drove her closer to the edge again.  “I . . . I am so close,” she gasped, “please, I want . . . .”

“What do you want?” he prompted, doing something with his mouth she would later only remember as causing a full-body shiver.

Josephine’s teeth dug into her lower lip, just this side of painful.  “I want . . . mmmm, I want to feel you,” she gasped out, seeking the pleasure she was being driven towards.  “I want . . . you to come inside,” she managed.

He groaned at that, the fingers on her ass clenching not quite hard enough to hurt.  “Anything you want,” he panted.  They moved in sync, the room filled with the sound their bodies meeting, the smell of their sex.  It took so little time, an eternity, and she felt that tension between her legs, in her shoulders, along her spine.

“I am . . . going to come!” Josephine moaned, feeling the tremors of pleasure shaking through her.  Her head went back against the wall, legs tightening around his waist, the sensation of her body clutching eagerly, milking his shaft, shutting down all but the most basic functions of her mind.  “Ahhhhhhhnn!  Yessss, Maker, yesssss!”

His breathing was heavy and labored, arms almost cradling her as she rode out her climax before he groaned, deep and low, and thrust hard into her one final time.  Josephine could feel the tremors running through his muscles as he pumped his seed into her.  She could feel the throbbing of his cock, the heat and weight of his load in her.  She’d almost forgotten how amazing that sort of thing felt.

They stayed like that for a moment, both of them catching their breath and regaining their strength.  He adjusted his grip after a moment, moving away from the wall, Josephine still wrapped around him.  Slowly, carefully, he walked them back to the bed and laid her down there, gently disentangling their limbs and bodies before climbing into bed next to her.

Her eyes still hazy from her orgasm, she turned onto her side, cuddling close to him with a small smile.  “I know this, ah, experience is not meant to be the start of emotional entanglements, but I hope you do not mind the physical contact afterwards.”

One arm wrapped around her shoulders.  “That’s the longest way to ask for cuddles I’ve ever heard.”

“I doubt that very much,” she said, resting her head on his shoulder.  “But regardless.  I suppose you would not be interested in canceling our plans tomorrow night as well.”

Iron Bull laughed.  “I think you could make an argument that would persuade me.”


End file.
